


All Wrong

by InstantMix5



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Bryce changing, F/M, He's human, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Parent(s), Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Suicide thoughts, Underage Rape/Non-con, he can change, just trust me, mother suicide, soft side of Bryce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 04:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InstantMix5/pseuds/InstantMix5
Summary: Post trial, no Ani, no murder, just the sweet side of Bryce Walker and OFC Isabelle Hunter falling in love while struggling with their issues and healing each other. There's more content warning on the first page, titled Author's Note. It is very important, please read. Do not click if you are under 15 years of age or struggling with family abuse, cheating, drugs, alcohol, rape, sexual assault, or suicide.





	1. Author's Note

This is a fanfic based on the book and recently adapted television show called 13 Reasons Why. There is no major character death, meaning Bryce Walker is still alive, but this is post trial, post Chloe, but Bryce does not die. At least, not yet. Also, Ani doesn't exist or else this entire fic would not make sense. 

This is where things get tough. Isabelle, the main character, moves in with her mom's best friend, Nora Walker. She falls in love with Bryce. Yes, Bryce the rapist. Bryce the mean possibly alcoholic jerk that also has a sweet and sensitive side. That's what this fic will mostly be about, but there will be mentions of the rapes, and some violent outbursts. He never hurts Isabelle, though. Not in a permanent way, maybe grabs her or "rough houses" with her in a playful way, stuff like that. But Isabelle can stand up for herself and will call Bryce on his jerkiness. That's the kind of character she is.

She also has a twisted past, having walked in on her mother's suicide. There is a couple parts where this is described very vividly and I will put warnings before the parts and put it in italics so you can skip it. This book is not for everyone, no shame in that. Read only what you are comfortable with. If these are issues in your life, it may not be for you. Please press the back button if you are under the age of 15 or feel uncomfortable with the issues in the book, movie, or mentioned in this little snippet.


	2. Ch. 1

You know everything is wrong when you forget who you are. I spent four years pretending to be a different someone for every person I met. I was broken for my brother, and innocent for my best friend. A badass for my coworker, and a nerd for my classmates. I became each personality to fit in with what everyone expected of me. But the hardest role to play? Was strong.

When my dad cheated, I pretended like I was okay. Nothing was broken inside me, after all, he didn't cheat on me. He cheated on my mom. She, on the other hand, needed me to be strong in a different way. A way that no child should ever have to support their parent. My mom needed a lifeline because she excluded from her friends group so much for my father that she had no one else to lean on but me. She never asked how I was or if I needed someone to talk to about how I was feeling. But I pushed on.

Until the day I found out why he cheated. It wasn't because of the original reasons. He told us that my mom didn't keep the house clean enough. That she was always distant. He didn't like how much my mom spent on groceries for the house every month even though we could very easily afford it. All sorts of dumb reasons. And then we found out the truth. He never wanted a kid. He wanted it to just be him and her and no one else. Not in a romantic way. He only married my mom so someone would do his laundry after his mom died. No, the truth was that he didn't want me. 

My mom would never have had to go through the pain she went through had I not come along. They got married because she got pregnant with me. Had she not, who knows where she would have been in the world. Maybe she would have broken up with him and moved on to a handsome man with a guitar in Puerto Rico. Or maybe she would have been homeless. Either way, at least she would still be alive.

Instead, not only was I the cause of the pain inflicted by my father, but I was also bad at being the person she needed. I missed one thing one night. One slip of phrase because I was tired and wanted to go cry myself to sleep. She said goodbye instead of goodnight. And I was so tired I didn't even hear it until I heard a gunshot ring through the quiet home. Only then did the word register. "Goodbye," she said to me. And that was the last thing I will ever hear my mom say.

Back to the present, I shift in the leather back seat of the vehicle. The road whirs underneath me and trees flash by out the window. "Where are you sending me again?" I snap at the man driving the car.

"Izzy, don't be like that. You're just staying with them for a couple weeks until I can get everything situated back home." He tells me. 

"You mean sell off mom's dream and use the money to buy a house for you and your girlfriend?" My father is patient with me most of the time, but I push one too many buttons for the day.

"I screwed up, Isabelle! What do you want me to say? Just kidding? Because I can't change the past, you know that. I can't fix things now... so I have to live with my mistakes and make the best of what I'm left with." When he finishes, I fight the urge to continue attacking him for what he did.

This is the best thing for both of us because I can't stand to look at him anymore. All I can do is pick at every choice he makes. I can't stand my own father and no amount of money or love or listening will fix that. We are both miserable living together. I'm happy that he is sending me off, but I'll never admit that to him. 

Maybe it's childish, the way I'm acting. Actually, I know full well it is. He did make a mistake, a lot of mistakes, but he's trying to fix what is left of his life. And I shouldn't hold mom against him. No matter how many times I tell him that it's his fault, he can't bring her back. Mom is never coming back. 

Tears fill my eyes and my throat tightens. I look out the window as trees whir past in attempt to stop the eminent crying session. A few years ago, my favorite cat passed away. He was by my side as long as I could remember and losing him was the most painful thing to have ever happened to me. But that pain could never have prepared me for having to bury my mom. 

"So," I clear my throat and wipe an escaped tear from my cheek. "Who am I staying with, anyway?"

"Your mom's best friend, Nora Walker."


	3. Ch. 2

A gentle bump stirs me from my nap. I peel my eyes open to find darkness outside the car windows. Rain drops sit on the windshield and catch the light of streetlamps, but the sky isn't cloudy. I sit up in the seat and adjust the belt across my chest. Huge houses line the street on each side, spaced wide and surrounded by black metal fencing to keep people out. We pull into a driveway and pass through a magnificent gate. Beyond lies a stone home with large front doors. The castle-esc house is lit up through every window, yet it still manages to look dreary and cold, like a lonely fortitude. The fence shutting behind us just reinforces the prison environment and I realize I am trapped on a property with a woman I only know from stories. 

My father's car slinks up the curved driveway and parks at the front steps. I shiver and pull my jacket closer to myself. It's pointless, as the damp still hits me full force when I open the car door. Is it always like this here? The door to the house opens and a thin figured woman steps out onto the cobbled front porch. 

"Daniel?" She inquires. I look to my father, seeing as it is his name. Another figure slips out from behind the woman and to the trunk of the car. He pulls out my bags and take them back into the home.

"Nora," He approaches her and they talk in voices low enough that I can't hear them over the gentle patter of rain traveling down gutters on the house. Crickets chirp in the center garden and it relaxes me, reminding me of home. "Isabelle, come meet the owner of the home you're going to be a guest in for the next couple weeks." 

"Hello Isabelle, it's so nice to finally meet you. Your mother always spoke so fondly of you." The lady says to me as I approach her. I give her an impersonal hug and pretend kiss to her cheek before stepping back to inspect her appearance. Closer now, I notice how blue her eyes are, so cool they're almost gray in color. Her makeup is dark and makes her look tired for her young appearance. She looks as though she is haunted by something. Life tires her. Like she's been through as much as my mom had been through. 

"I need to head back home, Izzy-"

"It's Isabelle." I interrupt my father. He lost the privilege to call me Izzy when he broke mom.

"Isabelle," he corrects, but mostly to warn me that I'm pushing his buttons again. "I'll talk to you soon, be good for Mrs. Walker." Without a formal goodbye or another word at all, he slips back into the black car and takes off into the night."

"I'll show you to your room. Your things are already inside." Mrs. Walker informs me. I follow her and find a bit of heat waiting for us inside the wonderful home. 

"This is a beautiful house, I love the wood floors." I tell her. It brings a smile to her dark pink lips. Before she can reply, a loud bang comes from somewhere in the house, followed by a drawn out swear word. The smile disappears as quick as it had come and a stormy expression replaced her kind demeaner. 

"That's my son, you'll have to excuse him. He's going through some things and doesn't always listen to me without aggravation." I chuckle to lighten the mood.

"Kids can be like that, my cousin's son is going through that stage where even if she asks him to tie his shoe, he will scream about it. But if anyone else tells him, he will tie it a million times." I ramble to her. Her expression is fixed on disappointment no matter how hard I try to diffuse the tension. "How old is he?"

"Seventeen," She states. She doesn't hint that she is joking, and no words of comfort come to me. We are interrupted by a tall, filled out figure stumbling down the grand staircase behind her. 

His dirty blonde hair is short but messy, held misshapen by the oils of unwashed locks. "Mam, I need mai car keyss," the young man slurs. His voice is deep and smooth despite the obvious presence of alcohol in his system. 

"Bryce, go to bed. Now." She's firm with him, turning to stand between myself and who I can only assume to be her son. 

"But I need more beer!" He shouts at her. I flinch and shift in my spot. Like a predator, he is attracted by the motion and he eyes me up.

"You don't need anything, now go to bed." It's too late, he makes eye contact with me now.

"Who is she? -Who are you?" Bryce tries to push past his mom but she stops him and turns him back for the staircase. "Okay, okay, I'm going, but we are discussing this in the morning, okay mom?" 

Once he is out of earshot, Mrs. Walker turns to me, a shadow cast across both her face and her soul. "Whatever you do, stay away from my son. He has done terrible things, things you don't deserve to have happen to you. He isn't a good boy, he's dangerous. Stay far, far away. Because if he wants you, there isn't anything that anyone can do to save you from him."

Chills run through my body and I'm not sure if it is the rain or her words. What must this man have done to have his own mother make such serious warning against him? Shouldn't she say 'don't get close to him, he's my baby'? Instead she is chasing me away for my safety like his is a murderer. Maybe he is, I need to do some research.

"I had a room set up for you upstairs but I can have my son move some things around in the pool house if you want some more privacy." Mrs. Walker mentions, sadness still in her eyes as we ascend the stairs to the balcony. The iron rails of the exposed upper floor extends in both directions and we take the hall leading away from the slamming and tumbling noises.

She opens a door on the left and it swings open to reveal a bedroom. Nothing grand and sprawling, but definitely not lacking in floor space either. My bags sit in a neat pile on the left next to a tall dresser. In front of me is a large bed made with navy blue covers and framed by two windows into the darkness. Mrs. Walker flips a light switch that reveals the light blue walls of the bedroom. An honest smile finally crosses her lips when she admires the bright color.

"This was Bryce's nursery, once upon a time. It was close to Barry and my room, right across the hall. And then we had some remodeling done and moved the master bedroom to the first floor. Of course. Bryce wanted to repaint it when he turned eight but I could not part with this color so Barry and I agreed to just give him a whole new room." I smile with her, imagining how excited an eight year old would be to get a whole new room. "That was when things were happy around here, probably the last time, too. Don't mind me rambling on about the glory days, and feel free to repaint the room if you would like." Mrs. Walker stalks off down the hall, her heels making piercing holes in the silence that has fell over the Walker home.

When the sound fades down the steps and into another part of the home I have yet to explore, I relax. I allow myself to feel the true emotions of my day and my eyes tickle with tears waiting to spill. I begin unpacking my suitcases and boxes and place as much as I can into their new homes until I can no longer see what I am doing due to the glistening streams slipping from my eyes. My head hits the pillow under the blankets and I have just enough time to set an alarm on my phone before I am asleep.


	4. Ch. 3

"Good morning Mrs. Walker!" I chirp as I enter the kitchen. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen is immaculately clean and fabulous. It's bright and full of sunshine but Mrs. Walker does not feel the same morning cheer as I do. She sits at the island with her forehead resting in her hand, eyes trained on a cup of coffee.

"Oh, good morning Isabelle," She mumbles, but she doesn't stir from her spot. I don't ask her what is bothering her, as it isn't my place to pry into her personal life. Instead I pour a cup of the java and take a sip. Cold coffee touches my lips rather than hot, delicious, caffeinated drink. "Sorry, it was hot two hours ago, I think."

"It's no big deal," I laugh while starting a new pot. The coffee machine whirs and grumbles away, covering up the sound of someone else entering the kitchen. 

"Uh, mom?" 

I jump at the unexpected voice behind me. The voice is familiar but I'm not positive who it is. He is much more sober this time, at least. I spin and see Bryce, the drunken young man from last night.

"Good morning, Bryce." Mrs. Walker jumps up and plasters on a smile. "This is Isabelle, she will be our house guest for the next couple weeks. You will be kind to her." She whispers something to him in a harsh tone but I can't hear it. 

"Okay, mom, wow," Bryce chuckles to hide his embarrassment. "I'm Bryce, in case you see me between here and my cell at any time." 

Shyness overcomes me, a feeling I haven't had in years. Through my now awake eyes, he's much more handsome than I remembered. Or maybe it was the alcohol that was unbecoming. Either way, he is... cute doesn't do him justice, with a strong, wide jaw and tall, muscular body beneath his uniform shirt. 

I offer him a smile and quiet hello, but turn back to the coffee machine to avoid conversation. I pour another cup of now hot coffee and begin sipping. Bryce prepares a travel mug of coffee before ducking out the back door and leaving for school. That is my assumption, at least. 

"Isabelle, feel free to use your day however you want. The town is about five miles away and it isn't much, but there's a few nice stores. You can borrow any of my husbands' cars and please, do scratch them up and dent them into golf balls." She laughs at her own humor on her way out of the kitchen. I don't much feel like going out today, but the offer remains on my mind as I slink back to my room. 

Safe within the four blue walls, I begin unpacking the rest of my belongings. My mind wanders to someone I shouldn't be thinking about, but I'm alone in my thoughts, who cares? What could Bryce have done to earn his mom's hatred? She doesn't just dislike her only son, she absolutely hates his presence in her life. But she's still so fond of the memories of the past. 

Could he have murdered someone? No, he wouldn't be free to roam the Earth as a murderer, maybe all he did was beat up some kid in school, but that doesn't sound like enough to hate someone... Maybe he kept a secret from her? She makes it very clear that she hates her husband, suppose Bryce helped his father keep the secret from Mrs. Walker that he was cheating on her? I could suspect him of murder, but not of keeping a secret so terrible. 

A gentle patter of knuckles on my door interrupts my deep thoughts. "Isabelle, sorry to bother you, but I'm just letting you know that I'm heading out for a few hours." 

"Oh, uh, yes ma'am, have a safe trip!" I shout back to her from my pile of crap. My neck aches and my butt has been asleep for the past ten minutes. I figure now is a good of time as any to grab some breakfast. The time reads two pm on my lock screen. Time flies when you slept in like crazy and you're wondering what crime your housemate committed. 

The halls of the house are impersonal and green like money. How fitting, I guess. Rich people that seem to have spoken more to their hands than each other have no photos anywhere. Save for one, I correct myself. On the mantle of the fireplace is a framed image of a young boy, a pile of bubbles on his head and a wide, open mouthed smile. The little boy is almost unrecognizable except his eyes. A piercing icy blue that reminds me of the blue on the walls of my room. Of Mrs. Walker's eyes.

"That's me," The voice startles me and I jump. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Bryce offers me a gentle smile.

"It's the only picture in the house," I explain as my reason to be staring at the picture of a four year old in the bath.

"The rest have my father in them, my mom took them all down after he left." Bryce reveals to me. It reminds me of my rampage after the funeral. I tore through the house throwing every picture and reminder of mom into a trash bag, screeching and sobbing.

"I understand, I did that when my mom... passed away." Bryce notices my hesitation but he doesn't push the matter. I'm thankful for that. 

"I'm sorry for your loss, it's hard losing people you care about. Shit-sorry, shoot, it's even hard to lose people you just knew." He's charming and emotionally in tune, I'll give him that.

"Yeah, it is." 

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving." Bryce says to me. As if by que, my stomach growls for food.

"So am I," I laugh and touch my belly. "What's there to eat around here?"

"Well, it's Thursday, so not much of anything until my mom gets back with groceries this evening, there's a café in town?" Bryce offers. He raises his eyebrows with hope. Why would someone so attractive have to be wondering if a girl will go to lunch with him?

"How is their coffee?" I ask and lead the way to the kitchen. Bryce laughs as he follows me.

"It's pretty good, they have a huge menu to pick from so if you can dream it, they can make it." Hearing this, my mouth waters at the thought of a caramel coffee with whipped cream. 

"Oh wow, it isn't raining anymore?" I say when the sunlight hits my skin. It warms my body and soul to be in the sun and I soak up the heat while I still can. 

"It's almost always sunny here, honestly. It's the once nice thing about this town." Bryce opens the passenger door to his jeep for me and I hop into the seat. The vehicle is old but well taken care of and not at all a clunker car. The door shuts beside me as I'm strapping myself into the seat. Bryce joins me and we're off. 

The ride is silent, other than the humming of the engine. I start to get a little warm in the car. Whether it be nerves or the actual temperature, I may never know. Maneuvering weirdly like a possessed contortionist, I work my jacket off of myself, sleeve by sleeve. I notice that Bryce keeps glancing at me while I'm twisting about, but I don't mention it. 

"How in the hell did you manage that?" He questions, a smile curling his lips up. 

"My mom was very strict about seat belts." I shrug. I never really considered that it was a talent that other people don't possess. 

After a few more minute of silence, Bryce speaks again. "You're sure you're okay with being seen with me?" 

"What?" The question is odd to me, why ask that? 

"Well, I'm sure my mom kindly filled you in on everything that happened the past couple months?" 

"You would be wrong about that, should she have?" I advance. Bryce releases an uncomfortable laugh.

"Depends if I want you to like me," His joke dies at the hands of my sudden concern. "Look, I'm just no one's favorite person in this town. Anyone that knows anything, hates me."

He doesn't release any more information and I don't ask. It's not my place to wonder. We pull into a slanted parking spot in front of an old brick building with a hipster-style sign reading "Monet's". 

"Bryce," I place my hand on top of his to stop him from getting out. He focuses on my small hand over his, refusing to look me in the face. "You're just my mom's best friend's son, whatever you did that makes you think the whole world hates you, doesn't affect me. You don't seem like the devil incarnate, so we're good."

He offers me a small smile and dismounts from his seat. He rushes around the side just in time for me to be on the ground. "I was going to get the door for you!" He teases.

"Oops," I joke and nudge him with my shoulder. We laugh and head into the café for lunch.


	5. Ch. 5

"Mom, I'm home!" I shout as I close the door. I wait to hear her reply but I am greeted by silence instead. "Mom?" I know I saw her car in the driveway, I wonder where she is that she can't hear me. "Mom!" I shout through the house, wandering through each room to find her. 

Maybe she went out, sometimes she goes out with the neighbors without telling me. She hasn't done that it a very long time though. Not since dad. It's good for her to get out of the house. I pull out my cell phone and call my mom's number. The phone goes straight to voicemail. I try it again and it starts buzzing. "Come on momma, pick up!" 

I begin to hear the faint jingle of my mom's ringtone from upstairs. She doesn't often forget her phone, she must be sleeping. I could let her rest... Or we could go out shopping! I've been needing some new jeans, after all. I end the phone call and dash up the steps. Her door is propped open a couple inches and I push it the rest of the way open. "Momma, wake up let's go shopping!"

The door swings open and I see her laying on the bed, slumped over awkwardly. "Mommy?" she doesn't stir from where she rests. Is she okay? A smell takes over my nostrils, thick and pungent in the air. The room almost smells like iron. I take a step further into the room and the scent gets stronger. I walk towards my mom but my attention is drawn to the right. The wall behind her is covered in glistening red dots. Chunks of crimson mush liter the carpet by the bed. Is my mom hurt? My stomach churns as I walk around the bed to see her better. "Mommy?" Tears sting at my eyes, and with one look at her face, I know what happened. 

I scream. She's dead. I grab at her hands, her limp body. I pray with my soul that she wakes up. Nothing helps, she doesn't move. I pull out my phone and dial the police. "911, what is your emergency?" The lady on the line says. "Ma'am, you need to calm down and tell me what is happening." I realize that I am still screaming at the top of my lungs. Eventually the scream turns to sobbing into the operator's ear.

"It's my mommy, please! Mommy please wake up!" I grab her hand and shake it violently. 

"What's your location?" The operator demands in my ear. She asks twice more before I am able to speak words.

"Mommy please," I beg her, rattling her body in hopes that it will fix everything. The gun works its way off the bed and onto the floor with a thud that scares me into screaming more. "Please save her, bring her back! God, give my mommy back to me!"

"The police are on the way, please stay on the line with me." I sob, tugging at her lifeless body. Her skin is cold in my hands, eyes sunken in. Her tan skin is dull and pale. This can't be her, it looks nothing like her.

"This can't be happening, I must be in the wrong house, this isn't my mommy!" I declare. Still, tears pour down my cheeks. I catch a glimpse of a necklace, the necklace I gave to her for her birthday. Inside it is a picture of us at the beach. This is her. "Yes it is!" I whine, more sobs filling the air. I lay on her chest, my ear hoping to hear a faint heartbeat. Her chest is empty except for the echo of my cries.

Distant sirens tell me the police are almost here. The doors are all locked, but I can't find the energy to move. My blurry eyes wander to the gun resting by the foot of the bed. "I miss my mommy... maybe I should... join her..." I whisper. The telephone operator begins speaking to me, but I don't hear her.

I imagine myself picking up the gun, holding the cold metal to my temple and pulling the trigger without a single hesitation. Just like my mommy. My brave mommy. I imagine seeing her again, her arms welcoming me and her smile glistening in the summer sun. Our heaven would be on that beach all day, every day. Playing in the waves and reading books in the sun. It's our happiest day, our last perfect day. We would never go home from that beach. In our heaven, I would tell her that we should live here, buy a house here and never leave. 

"Ma'am, are you still with me?" The woman's frantic voice finally pulls me from my fantasy. 

"I want my mommy..."

A loud bang echoes through the house and I flinch at the abrupt sound. The bang happens again, followed by the sound of wood snapping. Thundering footsteps run through the house until they find my mom's room. An officer grabs me and tries to pull me away from my mom. "No! No let go of me! Let go!" I clutch to her empty body and kick away from the officers. 

"They need to get to your mommy, let the paramedics try to help her," A female officer says to me. I sob again. 

"No! They can't help her, she's dead! She's dead, and she's never coming back! God, give her back!" I scream to the skies, my grip never loosening on her figure.

"Let them try, let go of her. They need to move her so she is more comfortable." The uniformed woman bargains. My mind whirls with confusion and fear. I let go over my mommy and the officer makes haste to pull me away before I latch on again. She pulls me from the bed, cooing in my ear that I am doing the best thing for her.

The woman have drags, half walks my stumbling body out of the room and down to the living room. She sits me on the couch and kneels in front of me. "Can you tell me what happened?" I stare at the carpet, her question not processing in my brain. Sobs still fall from my mouth, but tears do not come. My eyes can no longer cry. "What's your name?" 

"Isabelle," I say but the voice isn't mine. I open my mouth to speak again, to tell the officer my name once more, and like the first time, it isn't my voice falling from my lips. The voice is deeper than mine, and it hardly shakes compared to how mine did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Isabelle?" The same voice from my dream stirs me awake. I sit up in my bed, my body covered in a thin film of sweat. I'm cold and hot all at the same time. My face is soaked and my throat raw. I cough, trying to clear the pain but it only makes me wince. "Isabelle, what's wrong?" 

Through the dark, I manage to find a familiar face. Bryce's face hides no emotion in this moment, concern evident on his handsome features. His voice shakes as he speaks to me. "I'm fine," I tell him in a hoarse voice. I clear my throat again.

"Do you want some water?" He asks me. I hesitate for a moment before nodding to him. "I'll be right back." Bryce turns to go but I grab his hand to stop him. He looks back at me with an eyebrow raised. 

"Don't leave me," I squeak out. "Please?" 

He nods and coaxes me out of the bed. Together, we journey to the kitchen. The wood floor is cold on my bare feet and it makes me want to lie down and soak in the cooler temperatures. Bryce pours a glass of water and passes it to me. He watches me sip the cool liquid and find the soothing my throat needed. 

"Can I get you anything stronger?" He motions to a door just outside the kitchen. "My mom's office has some harder beverages that make nightmares go away."

"No. not right now. It would burn too much," I point to my throat. The water has brought my voice back some, so I continue guzzling the drink. 

"Do, uh, do you want to talk about it?" He offers next. I remain silent this time. We remain in quiet for what feels like an eternity. 

"No, not right now," I finally break the silence. "Did I wake you up?"

Bryce chuckles, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Well, maybe a little bit... You were kind of screaming." I blush and hide my face even though he can't see me. "I wasn't going to come in but you kept screaming. I was worried."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," I whisper. My eyes prickle with tears again.

"Whoa hey, it's no big deal, we all go through things, Isabelle. I'm here if you want to talk, I've gone through some shit, too." Bryce offers to me. I appreciate how understanding he is being. What could he have done to upset his mom that much, but still be so kind of a person?

"Maybe sometime, but not tonight. I want to try and sleep again." I explain, escaping from talking about things for another night. Bryce nods and leads me back up the steps and down the hall to my room. Once I'm settled into the sheets, Bryce gives me a gentle smile before turning away from the door frame to leave. "Wait," I whisper-shout to him. "Don't leave me..."

Unsure, Bryce steps into my room and shuts the door behind him. He shuffles to the bed, hands reaching to find the foot of the ornate frame. When he makes it to the side, he sits down, stiff as a board. My hands push him back to rest his head on my other pillow. He's uncomfortable, I note, but don't think much of it. 

"Just until I fall asleep? I... I'm scared the nightmare will happen again..." I snuggle into my sheets and work to fall asleep. It does not find me, however. Instead I hear the gentle breathing of my bedmate. He managed to fall asleep, despite laying on top of my covers in a cold room. 

Moving as slow as I can, I take the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and place it over Bryce. I take a moment to analyze his sleeping form. His lips are parted to release a near silent snore, a bit of stubble shadowing his jaw line. Messy, somewhat oily hair sits on top of his head, the pieces falling from their usual style to frame a face without worry. 

My eyelids begin to feel heavy as I lay in bed. I turn onto my back to avoid blowing morning breath on Bryce. I'm almost asleep when I feel a heavy, warm arm snake across my belly. He pulls me a little closer to him, still asleep. A smile crosses my lips before I slip into dreamland.


End file.
